Looking Glass
by Nagia
Summary: Vincent Valentine, serial murderer who gave his body to Chaos in exchange for eternal youth. Yuffie Kisaragi, human whirlwind, runaway extraordinaire. The open road. An endless sky. Wanton lawbreaking. [Yuffentine]
1. In Which the Horror Begins

**t.itle: **Looking Glass  
**r.ating: **PG-13 to R, depending on the chapter.  
**w.ordcount: **too many  
**f.andom: **FFVII  
**p.airing: **YV (I don't write anything else, but we can PRETEND, right?)  
**s.ummary: **Vincent Valentine, serial murderer and satanist who gave his body to Chaos in exchange for eternal youth. Yuffie Kisaragi, human whirlwind, runaway extraordinaire. A Junon bike. The open road.  
**n.otes: **Now, gathered from the four thousand corners of the internet for your reading ease! Because I WANT you to rip out your own eyes!  
**a.dditional notes: **The ficbit that spawned the rest...

**

* * *

****Story I: Through, Into, Under, and Out of that Damned Looking Glass **

_i._

Vincent Valentine was not the kind you called a savoury character. Nor was he, in fact, the kind you approached under any circumstance other than desperation. Or unless you knew him very, very well.

That long dark hair, the black clothing, the red trench coat all screamed a message that warned most people off. His red eyes scared the people his hair or clothes didn't warn.

So did the freaking huge revolver.

But Yuffie Kisaragi didn't fear him. In fact, she didn't seem to care that he was a wanted man. Her chirpy exuberance made the world around her seem a little brighter. She always glossed over his chequered past (hah, more than chequered— it was downright plaid) by calling it "your boring story".

Let's go to Nibelheim, she'd said. Who'd look for a wanted man in Nibelheim?

That entire "hiding in plain sight" theory seemed to work well for her. Who would expect an extremely talented ninja to wear bright yellow and green, idiot fishnet stockings on only one leg, and yellow sneakers? And who would expect a wanted murderer to have neat black hair, well-tended clothing and travel in the company of a cheerful teenaged girl?

So they'd gone to Nibelheim, and now she was trying to fit in with the teenagers there. She was robbing houses blind of course, stealing random things as well as useful ones and then leaving them in other people's houses. It had been Yuffie who had turned the matriarchs of the Lockheart and Gainsborough houses against each other.

And all over an idiotic teacup, Vincent thought with a smirk. Women are truly so strange...

And she'd also turned Cid Highwind and Barrett Wallace against each other. Not through theft, this time. But rumours.

By the time the town realized just who had stolen so much from them, she and Vincent would be long hidden, and the town itself would be in a state of complete uproar.

"Come on, Vinnie!" Yuffie hissed.

Vinnie. He hated that nickname with a passion, or so he told her. In truth, it actually made him feel... Good. He liked that she bothered to shorten his name. It denoted some form of emotional attachment.

And so he followed her up the stairs to Shinra Mansion. The Shinra family, the townspeople said, had been a vicious family full of all sorts of hideous activities. Like Chaos-worship, human sacrifice, and incest. And then one day, the patriarch of the family, Guy Shinra, had allowed his eldest son (Rufus) to murder one of his younger sons.

After Reeve's death, the Shinra family had fallen apart, and the house was rumoured to be haunted.

They made their way through the darkened mansion. At length, they found some sort of secret passage.

"No signs of Chaos-worship anywhere!" Yuffie whined. "Why are all these damn things hoaxes?"

"Because Chaos-worshippers have the sense not to perform their rites where entire towns will learn of it," Vincent sighed.

He knew from experience.

"Oh. Okay. Well, maybe it'll be in the passage..."

He sincerely doubted it. The people of Nibelheim tended to blow things entirely out of proportion. He had never seen a group of people so prone to wild storytelling and exaggeration.

_Tell me why-y-y-y you cry and why you lie-ie-ie to me! Tell me why-y-y-y you cry, and why you lie-ie-ie to me! Well, I gave her everything I ha-ad, but she left me sittin' on my own..._

Vincent blinked. Where the hell had she learned that song? That was a song from his teen years, and that had been a good twelve years ago. None of the radio stations he knew of in Wutai played anything but modern rock.

_ii._

He followed her until she reached a locked door.

"If there's anything good in this ratty place, it'll be in here." She nodded firmly.

When she tried to open it, however, it didn't budge. Not even under her expert kicks did the door shudder.

So he sighed and put his shoulder to it. Chaos had given him superhuman strength in exchange for a host to stay in. It had been Chaos who had forced him to kill.

Ever since meeting Yuffie, however, Chaos had gone disturbingly quiet. Vincent was used to Chaos stirring at every beautiful face, every sign of innocence unspoiled. Boys and girls and men and women, young, adult, elderly. Anything that lived and breathed, Chaos had wanted to destroy. And now that Yuffie was with him, Chaos had seemed to calm. He contented himself with the havoc that Yuffie wrought on almost everyone she encountered.

Before he unleashed the strength Chaos had given him, he only used the strength a normal man of build could use. The door shuddered, but did not react the way a less sturdy door might have.

He planted his shoulder to it again, this time using the strength Chaos had leant him. After a few shoulder-rams, the door flew inwards.

"Ladies first," Vincent murmured.

Yuffie smiled and pulled on his hair. She kissed him on the cheek and strode into the room he'd opened.

He couldn't help but watch the way her bottom shifted in those entirely too-short shorts. He'd seen other men react the same way to her, mesmerized not by her bust but by the way she walked. Her confidence made her seem years older than she was.

And then she opened her mouth and every man who'd stared at her inwardly cringed at what a disgusting pervert he was.

"Are you coming or not? There's, like, coffins in here! You gotta see 'em!"

Vincent moved after her. The room did indeed contain a coffin. Nothing but a coffin, in fact.

"Well, I guess we know where the cool stuff is at," Yuffie snickered. "These Shinra people sure had a hell of a sense of humour."

"This probably isn't a good idea, Yuffie."

"Aw, is Big Strong Vincent Valentine scared? What if it's a zombie!" She cackled.

"It's probably just a corpse, Yuffie. Opening the coffin will let the stench into the rest of the room."

"Hn, good point." Yuffie pulled a yellow scarf out of her bag and tied it around her mouth and nose. She tossed him his own scarf, a black one, and set to work opening the coffin.

He tied it around his face and sighed when she had trouble lifting the lid, even after she'd undone the whatever-they-were that held it closed. He strode forward to help her. The coffin lid was unusually heavy, he noted. His brief period of time working with a mortician told him that this was no ordinary coffin.

It's like they wanted the corpse to stay in here, he thought, brow furrowing. Something wasn't right about this.

Corpses didn't move. Corpses didn't try to escape.

Had they buried someone alive?

With a groan, the two of them shoved the lid onto the floor.

The corpse sat bolt upright and stared at them with eerily blue eyes.

Yuffie squeaked and thrust herself against Vincent, wrapping her body up in his trench coat and whimpering nonsense.

"Oh my Gawd, Vinnie, oh my Gawd, oh my Gawd, oh my Gawd, Vinnie, it really is one!" She whimpered, even as the corpse said, "Thank god. I never thought I was going to get out. So, what are you doing down here, anyway?"

The corpse blinked. "Wait, what?"

"V-Vinnie, oh my Gawd, it really is a zombie!"

The corpse went quiet. After a beat, he deadpanned, "Braaaains."

"OH MY GAWD!"

He laughed. "Sorry, sorry. I was just joking."

"Who are you?" Vincent asked.

"I'm Cloud Strife. Not too sure if the Strife family's still around here, though."

"Are you a zombie?"

"Nope. I'm perfectly alive. I think. Don't worry; I'm not going to eat your brains."

"You sure do talk a lot for a zombie..." Yuffie gave Cloud a hard look. "And you're really pale. Are you a vampire?"

Cloud was silent for a while. "I'm not going to suck your blood, either."

"Oh. Okay." Yuffie paused. "Hey, Vinnie, how long have we been in here?"

He checked his watch. "About an hour."

Yuffie grinned. "Oh, goodie. Looks like I win this bet. Now Marlene gets to steal Cid's airship poster."

"Marlene? Barrett's younger sister? Yuffie, what are you doing?"

"Wreaking havoc. Havoc is fun, you know. You should try it sometime."

"Why are you turning this town against itself? This is the first time you've done this."

Yuffie sighed. "I told you, Vinnie. To make sure that by the time they figured out that I'm behind all the pranks around here, we're both long gone. And they'll have used an amazingly good deal of all their energy and shit fighting with each other."

And then she grinned. "I'm pulling off the greatest prank ever tonight, Vinnie. I'm robbing the candy store and greengrocers. I need a little sugar in my life, and it's probably not healthy to eat lots of candy without your veggies."

That was her code. Candy store meant materia shop, and greengrocers, plural, referred to weapon and item shops. Materia was a thing she loved; money was a thing she needed.

She tugged on his hair again until he bent enough for her to reach. She nibbled on his ear and whispered, "I think it'd be a good idea to, you know, fill up the Black Shadow."

Ah, the Vincent Black Shadow. A Junon bike, so half the time, when he'd first bought it, it hadn't run. Very safe. But once he'd fucked around with the electrical system (god, Lucas Electric did shitty work)... Well, at least the headlight switches had the positions of "off, dim and bright" instead of "off, dim and flicker".

A few hours of Black magic tinkering with the engine later, it had actually started. And it ran steadily now.

Vincent nodded and whispered back, "I keep some cans of petrol tied up in the highest branches of The Tree, you know. It shouldn't be too hard."

Yuffie shrugged. "Just make sure nobody sees you."

He laughed bitterly at that. "Six months, Yuffie, and you still warn me of that. No one will see."

They never did. Only arachnophobes looked up consistently.

He thought to the bundles that hung in the only living tree left on the Shinra property. Yes, he could easily sneak those down. Something about him made people ignore him unless he was making his presence obvious.

Only children seemed to be immune to it, and adults rarely listened to children.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Yuffie's ill-gotten gains sit in a duffle bag, which she keeps tied behind him. The travel-bag, which contains their clothing and other supplies, he has strapped to the bike.

For once, he has buttoned his trench coat. She sits in front of him, but it is more like in his lap. He buttoned the coat around her, so that it now covers both them. There is more than enough room.

Her face presses up against his chest, her arms wrap around his waist. He can feel her tighten her arms as they take a sudden turn.

The wind whips through his hair. He can hear the wind screaming past them. It chills them both. This shouldn't be, because she is practically sitting his lap, with her arms and legs wrapped around him and the only thing an outsider could see of her is a slight lump in his coat. They are giving and sharing body heat.

Another sharp turn and her grip on him tighten.

He would wonder why she insisted on sitting like this when she could just put on a pair of pants and a coat and sit behind him, but he knows better. She is an adrenaline junkie, and this is a ridiculously dangerous position to ride in. She feels it every time he turns.

Over the wind, he can just barely hear her cry out in exhilaration.


	2. Blown All to Hell

**n.otes: **Because sex is fun. So is lawbreaking. So is reckless driving, criminal negligence, and, um, breaking ever common sense law known to man.  
**a.dditional notes:**I'm giong to hell. You're all coming with me.  
**t.ertiary notes: **This is probably too explicit for a PG-13 rating, but I don't -think- so. So, uh, if it's too explicit, I'll, um, change the rating. Or something. Because the porn is necessary to the plot (I LOVE being able to say that...)**

* * *

**

**Story II: Blown Straight to Hell**

Her legs wrap tightly around him.

Nibelheim is far behind them. They're in Rocket Town now, hiding from the world. Well, in the forest outside Rocket Town.

Not too far away, the Vincent _Black Shadow_ sits, the kickstand extended.

"Tell me you love me, you murderous bastard," Yuffie hisses.

"I love you," he tells her, groaning as she slides along his length.

Her fingernails dig in wherever they can find purchase in his flesh. The sensation of the punctures in his skin immediately closing up is an odd one.

And then he tenses, all the muscles in his body contracting. She can feel it. He's about to orgasm.

Orgasm is the worst part.

She feels so small against him. He pulls her close, that inhuman strength crushing her breasts against him. His grip on her threatens to crack her spine. The thrusts of his hips could so easily tear her flesh inside.

She looks up, into his eyes. If she can make eye contact... But no, his pupils have dilated and the capillaries in his eyes are doing that burst-heal thing that gives him the impression of having red eyeballs. Chaos is watching her, Chaos is touching her. It is Chaos's mouth, not Vincent's, that nips at her earlobe.

She hates it when Vincent orgasms. Not only is there the threat of being maimed or possibly killed, Chaos is always that much closer to her. And fun and interesting as Vincent is, Chaos is not what you would call a perk. Chaos is a vile demon, and he has made Vincent kill people, and he wants to paint the world in red and black, in blood and ash. And every time Vincent loses control of his body, Chaos hovers just underneath the surface.

Worse than the knowledge of what Chaos is, though, is the knowledge of what Chaos's presence does to her. Feelings rise within her, the urge to lash out at everything she knows. Suddenly being a petty criminal and losing her virginity to a foreigner and wreaking havoc wherever she goes isn't enough. She wants to do something big. Something bold. These feelings of wild freedom and being chained down frighten her.

And then Vincent has finished, without maiming her. He never actually does, but the threat of it always lingers just under the surface of their lovemaking, like a drowned corpse whose legs have entangled in weeds beneath the surface of a lake. Chaos retreats back into Vincent's mind, and the hypnotic strobelight effect in Vincent's eyes ends.

"Is it wrong?" She asks.

"I think we've surpassed simple right and wrong. God knows _I_ left them behind a long time ago."

_When I first started worshipping Chaos_, she knows he wanted to add.

"I don't mean the sex, Vinnie. I meant... Well, no offense, but I feel... Free when I'm watching you struggle with that thing."

Vincent shakes his head. "That's how anyone who came into non-fatal contact with him would feel. You have to remember that Chaos is rebellion."

He tries to slide out of her, but her hands grip his shoulders and she moves with him.

Various muscles along his body twitch and spasm.

"Yuffie," his voice hisses from between his teeth, "you have no idea how that feels."

She knows the sex has left him extremely sensitive, but too exhausted to do much more than sleep, or at best lie in her lap and attempt to carry on a conversation (he's been getting better at the whole conversing thing, too, she notes). It drives him crazy when she teases him in his exhaustion.

He insists, his voice an angry murmur.

She releases him.

Yuffie watches as he settles into a pile of dead leaves, his eyes already sinking closed. He takes a light nap. He doesn't really need to, she knows. Chaos is probably already wiping the fatigue toxins from his body.

When his eyes drift open, she says: "Let's go for a ride."

He says: ". . ."

She glares.

"If you want to," he adds.

They dress in silence. At length, she pulls on her ridiculously bright yellow sneakers and he runs a rag over the shining steel-copper alloy that coats the toes of his boots. He polishes that metal obsessively--- she would know, she watches him do it all the time.

He pulls on the red trench coat, slides the Outsider into its holster. His right hand extends, fingers spasming in the fingerless leather gloves he never removes, not even during sex.

Yuffie moves, sparrow-quick, to sit upon the _Black Shadow_.

Vincent joins her. She turns around, wrapping her arms and legs around him in her favourite position. He reaches around her, easily starting the _Black Shadow_.

The bike thunders and rumbles, purring like some demonic cat. Its headlights seem to cast a red tint to everything in the darkness. She would expect nothing else from a motorcycle kept functioning with dark magic.

Her yellow scarf snaps in the wind like some vengeful whip. It cracks Vincent across the nose, obscuring his vision.

It makes her want to laugh until she is sick and shaking. The momentarily confused expression on his face, the brief watering of his eyes, the panic that only lasts for a second when he realizes he can't see.

Vincent's right hand reaches out and pulls its knot loose while his left hand tightens on the handlebars. He casts the scarf behind them. It flies away.

In the impotent moonlight, the now-knotted and spiralling fabric looks almost like a grey chain, falling away.

Vincent's trench coat fans out behind him. His long black hair streams to mingle with the vivid red. The effect, she knows from experience, is a cross between Dracula and a conquering prince.

"Go faster," she murmurs into his jaw. She traces that strong, handsome line with her tongue.

He shouldn't be able to hear her, but he does lots of things he shouldn't be able to do.

His hand clenches on the throttle. His wrist spasms. The motorcycle speeds up.

A quick glance backwards confirms her suspicions. They are now going ninety miles an hour.

"Not fast enough. Have a little fun."

Her hands slide into the waistband of his pants. He makes a sound; she isn't sure quite what it is. She doesn't have his superhuman hearing.

She sees the muscles in his arm twitch. She looks back again, just in time to see his knuckles turn white.

His wrist jerks again.

Ninety seven.

They are now not only breaking the speed limit, they are breaking the laws of common sense, as well. This would be reckless driving, if any police were to stop them. They would be paste, if he were to crash.

He won't, though. Chaos will protect his host.

She moans. "Faster. Have some fun, Vincent! You make roadkill look like the women in Gold Saucer who take off their shirts for plastic bead necklaces."

She can feel his erection through the thick denim of his jeans. She wriggles closer into his lap, repeating her request.

Vincent's mouth tightens into a thin line, but the motorcycle speeds up.

One hundred fifteen.

She cries out to the wind as the final fetter on her soul, the instinct of self preservation, comes undone.

And oh! what a joy life is when you don't care if you live or die, so long as you can go out with a hell of a bang.


	3. Laughing All the Way

**n.otes:**Ho-ho-ho! In other news, this fic has a website. http(colon)(slash)(slash)noodles(dot)digital-takeout(dot)net(slash)j(slash)insomniac(slash). Input thatexactly and replace the (colon) (dot) and (slash) with the actual symbols. It should pull right up.  
**a.dditional notes:** Straight to hell. Really. And don't even TRY to run.  
**t.ertiary notes: **I have never seen THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE. I knonw, I'm a horrible person, mocking what I've never seen. You can shut up now. I made Vincent a satanistand Yuffie into a runaway who deals with all the scary things by having sex. Then again, sex with Vincent Valentine would certianly make one's life SEEM better... Also, this is the fic that broke the Looking Glass tradition: ending the story with Yuffie buttoned up in Vincent's trenchcoat, breaking the speed limit.

**

* * *

**

**Story III: Laughing All the Way**

**_i._**

"Hey, look!" Yuffie cried, "A drive-in movie!"

Vincent looked. It was indeed a drive-in movie. Upper Midgar didn't have many, and this one was exclusively adults only, he noted.

But Yuffie was watching the marquee. Vincent took note of the title and bit back a groan.

"Oh my god, special unrated showing of _The Corel Chainsaw Massacre_! Vincent, we have to see this!"

"No we don't."

"Come on, Vinnie! It's _The Corel Chainsaw Massacre_! It's horrifying and scary and just frackin' awesome! We have to go see it, Vinnie!"

He ignored her.

"Aww, how often do I do things I don't want to?"

"Never."

"How often do I give up the covers and nick food and charm people into letting you into their houses?"

"You don't have to do any of that."

"Think about it, Vincent. Can't you do one thing for me?"

Sighing, he changed lanes.

Yuffie squealed in delight. "You're the best, Vincent! Somebody's getting _lucky_ tonight!"

"I'm always lucky."

"Shut up and drive."

Vincent drove.

They pulled into the drive-in movie. The man who gave out speakers did so wordlessly. His blue eyes pupils dilated quite far, Vincent noted with a vicious sort of satisfaction never once moved to the cash box.

Cash box. Wait a minute. Drive-in movies were supposed to be free!

Then again, this _was_ upper Midgar. If they could find a way, they'd charge for air.

Yuffie pointed to a knot of people on motorcycles. "Let's sit with them. You know how people in cars get freaked out by us."

Vincent kissed the top of her forehead, because he could, because it bothered her as much as he declared that the name 'Vinnie' bothered him. "Those are all high schoolers."

"How do you know?"

"They're wearing letter jackets."

"Why does it matter? Come on, Vincent. Be considerate of the people in cars!"

Sighing, Vincent pulled up to the group.

Yuffie smiled at one of them. "Mind if we join you?"

"Not at all," the boy she'd spoken to replied.

Vincent killed the engine and thrust out the kickstand. Yuffie snuggled into his chest, smiling brightly as the other bikers all tossed their speakers into a pile. Supposedly, doing that made it seem louder.

Vincent knew from experience that the idea was a shitty one. He declined to toss his speaker in. The other bikers gave him odd looks. He, being himself, ignored them.

"Are you sure about this, Rod?"'

"'Course, Mint-baby."

Vincent smirked. This might just be fun.

**_ii._**

Yuffie settled her back into Vincent's chest. It had been ages since she'd seen this movie, and she didn't want to miss anything.

Vincent rested his chin on the top of her head. First his right arm and then his left reached around her shoulders. He was pulling her close, as though she were a plush Chicobo.

"Scared?" One of the other bikers taunted.

Vincent didn't turn his head, so he must have rolled one eye to look at the other man.

The other biker said nothing further.

On screen, Yuffie noted, Mary Alice was walking down a darkened hallway. Any person who had seen the movie before would know exactly where she was going: the library.

"Don't go into the library," Yuffie murmured. "Don't go into the library."

She heard Mint, Rod's apparent girlfriend, was muttering the same thing.

Vincent pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Don't do that, Vinnie!" She hissed. "Not unless you want me to call you Daddy!"

Mary Alice walked into the library.

Yuffie winced, squinting at the screen. Six months with Vincent desensitized you to most gore, but still...

Something pushed Mary Alice up against the librarian's desk. Mary Alice screamed. It was a ridiculous tinny sound, when it came from the speaker.

Yuffie looked up and saw that Vincent had begun to smirk.

Vincent's lips found their way to her earlobe. He began to nibble.

"They don't really scream like that."

Yuffie gasped. Her hand reached out, desperate for contact with him.

Mint tossed them a dirty look.

A shadowy figure duct taped Mary Alice's hands above her head.

_Please don't!_ Mary Alice begged in her tinny voice. _Please, for the love of God... I'll do anything you want, just don't_

The villain's voice wasn't tinny in the slightest. It rumbled, a deep, enchanting (in Yuffie's opinion) baritone.

_And if you're already doing everything I want?_

_Oh god_, Mary Alice moaned. _Oh god, please don't kill me. Please don't kill me!_

But the shadowy figure withdrew a chainsaw from apparently nowhere. He revved it up a couple of times.

Was it ridiculous to notice that the chainsaw sounded like Vincent's motorcycle?

Mint gasped.

The chainsaw bit into Mary Alice's flesh, humming and buzzing. Vividly red blood flew across the screen.

All throughout the parking lot, young women screamed and buried their heads in their boyfriends' shoulders.

Yuffie settled for a slight gasp. She turned around to look at Vincent. When she saw the wide grin on his face, she couldn't help but trace the line of his jaw with a finger.

The shadowy figure tossed Mary Alice's corpse to the floor.

Yuffie re-traced the path of her finger with her tongue.

Vincent shuddered.

Yuffie could feel Vincent's erection poking into her. The knowledge that even Vincent felt such things at socially unacceptable times made her smile.

The chainsaw muderder began to cut the pieces of Mary Alice's corpse, resulting in more blood spatter.

Mint, as well as several other biker girlfriends, screamed and turned her head away. Yuffie looked over at them, disgusted. She'd been more afraid that the chainsaw murderer would RAPE Mary Alice, since this was the unedited version.

Vincent released his hold on her earlobe, making Yuffie whine. But she found herself smirking a private little smirk when he tossed back his head and laughed.

Yet more dirty looks.

Yuffie could hear Vincent trying to stop. But it was obvious that he couldn't. He was laughing hysterically, tears pouring from his eyes.

"What's so funny, jerkoff?" Rod demanded.

Yuffie felt her heartbeat speed up. Vincent wouldn't hesitate to get into a fight. Killing people was how he worshipped Chaos, and they'd been traveling without killing anybody for some time now.

"This movie," Vincent replied.

"What do you mean, this movie is funny!"

"I'd think the meaning was obvious. I find this movie funny."

"And what's so funny about it?"

Vincent shrugged, then straightened. Something in him seemed to have snapped.

"Vincent?" Yuffie poked him. "(This isn't the best place)," she whispered.

"Would you like to take this somewhere else, boy?" Vincent demanded.

"Yeah, how does _out-fucking-side_ sound, old man?"

Vincent inclined his head. "Sounds fine."

The _Black Shadow_ gunned to life.

So did the Harley Davidson on which Rod rode. "Come on, Pulsar Inferno Typhoon Omega, let's show this guy who's boss, eh?"

Vincent rolled his eyes. "You name your bike? How... childish."

"Yeah, well at least Rod's not some sort of psycho impersonal bastard!" Mint snarled.

The two bikes zipped from the drive-through.

Yuffie closed her eyes. This was going to get ugly. So ugly.

**_iii._**

Vincent led the boy on a rather merry chase through the darkened streets of Midgar. He could hear the boy swearing behind him. Normal men, he knew, wouldn't have been able to hear it.

At length, he pulled the purring bike to a stop outside a church.

In the back of his mind, Chaos grinned a predatory smile. This... this... _boy_ had no idea what he was in for.

Yuffie cradled herself against him. She tightened her arms and legs around him, whimpering in pleasure as he slipped one hand into her entirely too-short shorts.

He kicked out the kickstand, teasing Yuffie a little more, then slid his hand from her shorts and kissed her lightly on the nose.

He unholstered the Outsider, loaded it, and tossed it in the boy's direction.

"Well? Do you at least know how to use it?"

The boy nodded. He cocked the hammer of the gun. Vincent felt his cock twitch at the expression on the other girl's face.

Chaos wanted to... Ugh, no. That was disgusting. He didn't want... Ugh. No.

The boy's finger trembled on the trigger.

Vincent moved. The first thing he did was rip the Outsider from the boy's hand.

_Rod_, Chaos murmured. _His name is Rod, and the girl is Mint, and he likes to take her with her face down._

He tossed the Outsider behind him. It clattered to rest at Yuffie's feet.

"Rod, what are you doing?" Mint cried.

That expression of fear on her face was only arousing him more. What the hell was wrong with him? How was he supposed to fight with any sort of clarity of mind if he a...?

Rod threw a punch. Had Vincent been anybody else, that punch would have knocked him unconscious. But Vincent had extraordinary strength.

In the real world, that punch was far from enough.

Vincent caught Rod's next punch, twisted the redhead's arm until he heard a crunch. Satisfying.

God, he was hard. Chaos's sick desires didn't seem half so sick anymore. Now they were... appealing.

How warped _was_ he?

Rod started screaming, trying to get away. "All right, I give! I give! Jesus, okay, I'm a kid, I'm sorry for insulting you, I give!"

Vincent released him.

Rod stumbled back to his bike.

A single slap with his left hand, more like a tap, really, bloodied Rod's lips.

Vincent watched the blood run down Rod's jaw, fascinated. Why in the hell did he want to kiss that blood away?

This wasn't possible. He wasn't interested in men. So why did he want to kiss Rod? To slide his tongue between those bloodied lips and pull Rod close?

Mentally snarling, Vincent slugged Rod again. He continued to hit the younger boy, his fists making satisfying sounds against the boy's flesh. He kept on striking out until Rod made a single gasping sound.

Vincent blinked when he realized that he had just beaten the boy to death. His hands were covered in Rod's blood.

"Oh my god!" Mint cried. "Oh my god oh my god--- Rod Starrin! Rod Starrin, you open your eyes right fucking _now_! Rod!"

The redheaded girl tugged on her boyfriend, shook him.

"Please, for the love of god, sweetie, please wake up. For the love of god, quit joking around on me!"

"Don't bother. He's dead."

_She's not wearing any underwear_, Chaos taunted. _She wanted Rod to get _lucky _tonight..._

_Shut up_, Vincent swore.

God, he was so hard it hurt.

_No._

He wasn't a rapist. He was murderer, but he wasn't a rapist. He wasn't going to take some 18 year old girl against her will. No matter WHAT Chaos wanted, he wasn't willing to do that.

"Do you love him?" Vincent asked.

"Yes, of course I do!" Mint screamed. "I gave up my virginity to him! I'm wearing his high school ring! I ride that stupid dangerous _bike_ with him! How couldn't I love him!"

"Do you want to live without him?"

Mint sniffled up at him, then looked back at her lover. She tossed a single lock of red hair behind her shoulder. "No... No, I don't. He's made my life so much better..."

Vincent reached out with one hand. His hand landed just above her heart. He could feel her pulse beat rapidly from fear. His fingers clenched in her shirt, then began to dig into her skin. Her heartbeat sped up, frantic.

She feared him, and god, that turned him on.

His hand clenched around her rapidly beating heart. With one quick jerk, he severed it from her chest. This should have been impossible, but it seemed Chaos was pleased.

He reached out with his tongue, licking the dark blood from the muscle he held in his hand.

He turned to Yuffie. "Want a snack?"

Yuffie looked sickened. "A human heart? No thanks."

She drew closer. Vincent could see how her pupils had dilated.

She slipped her arms around his waist, undoing the zipper of his jeans with her teeth. "I much prefer... other organs," she said thickly.

Vincent threw back his head and moaned.


	4. Sunsets Over Distant Oceans

**n.otes: **.to the tune of 'baghdad sky'.  
**a.dditional notes: **Honestly speaking, the answer is no. No, you aren't supposed to be able to make sense of this one. It just sort of... is. Hey, I'm doing 31 days! I'm ALLOWED to write crazyness if I want to!  
**t.ertiary notes: **This was originally written for Vincent's birthday. When asked what he wanted for his "umpteen bajillionth year", he replied, "Yuffie." So, here we go.

_

* * *

_

**Story IV: Sunsets Over Distant Oceans**

**_i._**

It is dark, and wet, and tiny pinpricks of sky-colour are striking everywhere.

The sky is exploding.

That is Yuffie's first impression. It is a false one, of course. The sky can't explode. It's just air. But when you consider how much oxygen is up there...

She wonders, briefly, if you could set the whole sky on fire. Like one great big birthday cake or something. Kaboom! Hey, look, everybody, the _whole fucking sky is on fire_!

"What are you thinking about?" Vincent mumurs. It's probably a scream. But it reaches her as a murmur.

"The sky, and fire, and ooh, Vincent, how long to Mideel?"

"Not long," he shouts.

Not long indeed. Crossing that huge bridge from south of Junon to Mideel doesn't take them long at all. The _Black Shadow_ was the first 100 mile-per-hour tourer, and Vincent is cruising at an easy 95. It's cold, wet and generally miserable. Yuffie, buttoned up in Vincent's trenchcoat and smelling that odd mixture of leather and cinnamon that is Vincent. She is safe, and as warm as she is likely going to get, and the world is cruising by her in silver and red and black.

"LEVIATHAN," she screams, "LIFE IE BEAUTIFUL."

"I'm glad you agree," Vincent screams with her.

**_ii._**

Mideel is an explosion of light and colour and sound and oh god, what a rush, to come off the highway ramp at ninety-eight miles an hour, with a random speedbump. The _Black Shadow_ wheels into a jump. They're not airborne for long, not even twelve seconds, but those four seconds of flight are...

Fucking perfect. Fucking _perfect_. Oh Leviathan.

She looks at the alien sky, tinged green from the Lifestream. Everyone around her is wearing those stupid white surgical face masks, like they're sick or they're nurses or something. She could laugh. Face masks don't save you from Lifestream. You need a Gast suit for that shit.

Don't they call 'em HASMET suits now? She wonders vaguely, then shakes her head. They say 'Gast suit' in Wutai. That should be good enough for her.

"Come on babe," she sings horsely, "we're gonna paint the town."

Vincent doesn't join her. He likes when she sings showtunes, she can tell from the way he always manages to pull her closer. He never sings along with her, though. That's where he draws one of his lines.

Vincent, she thinks, is a messed-up jumble of planes and angles and lines. His face is all hard, strong lines. His body is a stream of lines, gorgeous and flat and muscled and built and she is drooling at the thought of him, shirtless. His mind and heart and soul and everything that he carries around in his gut--- that's all lines, too. Exploding ones, ones he'll blow your brains out if you cross. His soul is like the lattice work of a playpen. It takes so much work to get past it, to get inside, and once you're in, you're trapped.

She realizes, now, that she loves him. She loves his violence, she loves his lines. She loves every twist and turn in that dark soul with a desperate, consuming love. Sometimes she wishes she could just cup him in her hands and devour him whole, until he was inside her, riding in her stomach, for ever and ever and without end, without parting.

"Telll me you love me, fiend," she screams as they blaze through Mideel, making tracks for god-knows-what and god-knows-why.

His only response is a low, animalistic growl.

Yuffie stares at the rain, the pinpricks of light that look like Mideel and the sky and everything striking her cheeks. She burrows deeper against Vincent's chest.

They race the clouds, not caring about the rain.


	5. For the Night Has Been Unkind

**n.otes:** This is what haunts them. To the 31 days tune of 'nightmare'.  
**a.dditional notes:** Look, I just had ALL FOUR of my wisdom teeth out last Monday. It has been just seven days since then, and my mouth STILL hurts like somebody drove a bunch of hot nails into each gum. Reviews are great, they really are, but one of the reasons I abandoned all of my Robin/Raven fics was the fact that the reviewers kept rudely demanding more. I eventually got fed up and posted a note in my profile AND to each of my fics, basically making a total ass of myself, and I abandoned all the fics out of embarrassment and the fact that writing those fics was more of an obligation than a past-time.

**t.ertiary notes: **The above note is just a very long way of saying that I don't appreciate people being so rude to me in a review. Asking me to update more is fine. But when your review content consists almost entirely of "more" and "now" and your review is no more than a sentence, I start getting pissed. Pissed enough that I thought about not posting this as soon as I found it. I DO have a life, and I have been in GREAT PAIN for the past seven days straight. Maybe I'm just raw right now, but I have no tolerance for things that anger me.  
That said, I'm going to go work on school work, which I should have been doing ages ago.

* * *

**Story V: For the Night Has Been Unkind**

When the stars have all gone out  
You'll still be burning so bright  
**Cast me gently into morning  
For the night has been unkind  
**Take me to a place so holy  
That I can wash this from my mind

—_Answer_, Sarah McLhachglan

_i. When the Stars Have All Gone Out_

This is the vicious part of her. This is the part she hates and fears and makes her wonder what Vincent sees in her. This is the part of her that convinces her that Vincent is only keeping her around for the sex.

She tells herself that it's enough. If all she can have of him is his body, then she will be content.

There is truth in her dreams, because when she sleeps, she is unable to lie to herself.

In her dreams, he confronts her. He tells her that she, too, must die by his hand.

She cries.

_ii. You'll Still Be Burning So Bright_

Tonight, Vincent dreams of his father, of his father's death.

He killed his father with his own two hands, before Chaos got used to guns. Why Chaos hates guns, Vincent will never understand. He barely tolerates them even ten years after their joining.

No matter what he does, he cannot wipe the blood of his parents from his hands. He fears that someday, Yuffie will see that blood. It is an irrational fear, for the blood is not physical, but there are nights when he dreams of drowning her in all the blood he's spilled, all the blood he's drunk.

_iii. Cast Me Gently into Morning_

Yuffie woke, sweating. Vincent had her trapped in his arms, those strong, strong arms. She looked up into that achingly beautiful face, so peaceful in rest, and she felt her heart clench.

She tried to move, but his arms tightened around her.

"Don't," he murmured. "You'll drown."

He sounded so afraid. His face twisted a little, and she felt the knot clasping her heart tighten.

"No," he whimpered. "Don't drink it. Don't drown. Don't trust me."

He was so sweet, in his vicious way. She loved him so much.

"Don't drown."

"I won't," she said as she kissed his forehead.

**_iv. For the night has been unkind._**

Her hands clasp tightly around him as they flee on the motorcycle.

She cannot bear to lose him.

_Take me to a place so holy  
That I can wash this from my mind._


	6. In A Failed Pipe Bomb Smoke Escapes Thro

**n.otes:** I'm going to hell. You're coming with me. And we're going to sing to the tune of 'Tao'.  
**a.dditional notes:** It's um, not right that Taoism makes me think of firecrackers, and I added references to almost every Chinese and Japanese religion or philosophy I could think of, is it?

* * *

**Story VI: In a Failed Pipe Bomb, Smoke Escapes Through the Cracks**

There was a scent in the air. Faintly sulphurous, it made her think of black powder that felt warm in her hands, of a night full of fire and colour and a day where you did not wear white under any circumstances. That black powder, she knew, was used in the rockets that scared away the evil spirits. It was a thing to celebrate. Black powder meant it was time to make lanterns and hang them outside your house or put them on tiny rafts and let them float out to sea, where Leviathan would see that they shone like the Materia in his crown and he would swallow them like shining candy, so that all the souls would see the wishes of their loved ones, would see that they were not forgotten.

She watched him fill bits of the tubes with that black powder that made her want to sit down and make lanterns and regulate her breathing so she wouldn't run out of breath before she wanted to...

He was making bullets. "Cartridges" he called them. But they were, essentially, bullets.

She once asked him, if he'd had to make a statue to Chaos, what would it be? What would he use for it? What would it look like?

And he'd told her that the statue would be made out of used condoms and murder weapons and the diaries of the girls who fell through the cracks and pipe bombs

(pipe bombs, she remembers, are like rockets you hide underneath the ground, smoke building up inside them like this love that is inside her, until the thin metal frame like her frail body cannot hold it inside any more, and it all comes out, like a teakettle and steam when it whistles, except it is painful and it is loud and there is always always always a spark)

and cell phones and romance novels and bullets and the salt that people so regularly shove in each other's wounds. He would make it out of shattered mirrors and bloody bird feathers and garbage and everything he could find that littered the side of the road.

But the thing that really stuck with her was he said that Chaos wouldn't have a face, just thousands of mouths, and in those mouths, thousands of teeth... And those teeth would be shining bullets, cartridges, clips, magazines, and his thousand tongues would be made out of spent ammunition and machine gun ammo slings and old, worn out hammers.

And he asked her right back. If she had to make a statue of Leviathan, what would it look like? What would she use?

And she said snake skins and hair and her mother's oldest kimono for his whiskers. She would give him Materia for eyes and Materia in the crown. Firecrackers and lantern frames and rice paper would prop up his body like the paper pretend dragons in the New Year festival. He would have scales made out of geta and tabi and rice and sashimi and shiny glass and he would be as long as she could make him and he would have firecrackers for a tongue. Bright, blowing-up firecrackers that spewed beautiful fire straight up to heaven.

And she had said, "And he would have bells, beautiful bells with the Ofuda hanging from them, and the little tie-ons that sanctify trees and he would walk in straight lines and zig-zaggy lines and curves and he would have no feet, no feet at all, and he would move against the wind."

* * *

--and what kind of teeth would he have?

says the murderer to the thief.

--he wouldn't have any teeth at all

says the thief to the murderer.

And the murderer scoffs, because you can't have a sea dragon without teeth, and the thief scoffs, because that was all the murderer had wanted to know.

What would his teeth be made out of.

* * *

"Well how does he eat?" The murderer asked.

"But he's a statue. It doesn't need to eat."

"Then why does it have a tongue?"

"Why do YOU have a tongue? You never eat."

"To kiss you with. Would you kiss a firecracker?"

"I kiss firecrackers all the time."

"My tongue doesn't explode."

"But your eyes do."

"You've never kissed my eyes."

"You never close your eyes when we kiss. I feel like I'm kissing them, even if I'm touching your mouth."

"My eyes don't explode."

"Yes they do, the capillaries burst and flood your eyeball with blood. That's exploding."

And he didn't say anything, because silence is how you say no where she comes from.


End file.
